Complimentary
by BiteMeTechie
Summary: You don't know what you've got till it's gone, ain't that how the sayin' goes?
1. Chapter 1

She's bright.

She's beautiful.

She's not a child anymore.

If he hadn't looked twice, he never would have realized it was _her_, so much has she grown up.

But he _has_ looked twice.

He almost wished he hadn't.

It would have been easier to forget if he hadn't.

The Summers women have always been a weakness of his, though he is loathe to admit it. First Joyce welcoming him...then Buffy spurning him...

Buffy's death hitting him squarely in the chest and making him mourn for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

Then Dawn.

Little, innocent, sister to the Slayer _Dawn_.

The nibblet, as he'd taken to calling her during those horrible months when Buffy had been dead and buried.

The months when Dawn came to him to comiserate...to mourn without mourning...

Why she sought _him_ out, he still didn't understand.

At the time, he accepted her company...not admitting to himself that maybe he _wanted_ it...instead deciding that it was more trouble to try and rid himself of her than it was to let her come.

He almost convinced himself of that, too.

He always thought her name to be the right one...where some people didn't fit their given names, _she_ did.

She _was_ like the dawn. Bright and shining like the morning sunlight when the last of the night's gloom was chased from the sky.

His inner poet insisted that being in her presence was as close to being in the sunlight that he'd ever get without the danger of bursting into flames...though sometimes he thought the emotions she elicited might force him to do the same anyway.

It wasn't love, exactly...it wasn't affection...not in any way he could explain.

He was..._fond_ of her. He was tethered to her and she to him.

Not quite like a father and daughter, but not quite like brother and sister either.

He certainly wouldn't call her his _friend_...

But he could call her his _companion_.

For an entire summer she was his and his alone...

When she shut out the others, she opened up to him...

Inseperable companions for one grief filled glorious summer.

He'd been too blinded by his own pain to see just what had been staring him in the face the entire time she'd spent with him...and even when Buffy returned he was too busy to notice Dawn's fading into the background.

Now though...now he was painfully aware of just how much warmth she'd brought to his sad little existence.

_Genuine_ warmth. The warmth and love that only a child can give. The innocence...the purity...the inner light that she cast on him with just one smile.

Her love for him. Unwavering.

Her _faith_ in him. Unshakable.

These things he knew he wasn't good enough for.

Now that those things are gone...now that he has caught a glimpse of her once more...he realizes just how much has been stolen from him by his own stupidity.

Now she is a woman. Nothing left of the child he'd...been fond of.

The fact he didn't recognize her at first is proof of that.

She is a grown woman...in her mid twenties, if his math is correct and he remembers her birthday...

Grown women have no need for a savior in black leather...grown women have no need for fantastic tales from centuries gone by...

Grown women have no innocent love to give to creatures like him without prejudice...

The woman who enters the club in too tight jeans and her hair done up perfectly isn't the nibblet...

And she isn't the key...

And she isn't his adoring companion any longer.

She isn't the beauty who loved a beast...she is just a beauty.

That makes him meloncholy. To know just what he's lost...to know just how good he'd had it not so long ago...

To know how he's thrown it all away...

That _stings._

Even knowing all these things, even feeling that unfamiliar tug in his chest that urges him to go to her...to talk to her...even knowing that the very deepest part of himself _wants_ her to be his companion again, he can't bring himself to approach.

The time for them to be companions is long since past; a time that is preserved only in his memory and could never be duplicated because that summer when they leaned on each other so desperately would never be repeated.

She is still light...and he is still dark...

And he'd most likely do more harm than good.

He isn't selfish enough for that. Maybe he should be. Maybe at one time he _would_ have been...

Not today.

He gives her one final look, taking in everything about her...

Just one last glance to last him before he slunk back into the shadows...just one last memory is all he needs.

Just a touch of the dawn to warm him in the darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

He's dark.

He's smoke and liquor and blackness wrapped in one neatly leather wrapped package.

He's the same as he ever was.

And he thinks she didn't see him. Thinks she didn't feel the electricity racing along her skin the way it used to whenever she was in the same room with him.

How could she miss it? How could she let that shiver spilling down her spine escape her notice?

Part of her wished she hadn't felt it...hadn't experienced that sudden, inexplicable pull somewhere deep inside her...

A piece of the tether between them that could never be severed, no matter how much time had passed or what events had taken place.

Why didn't he come to her? Why didn't he...why...

What does it mean?

Her heart aches at the sight of him retreating through one of the back doors, though she only sees him from the corner of her eye, she can't force down the lump in her throat.

Why did he run?

Why doesn't she run after him?

Doesn't he understand?

She still belonged to him, just as she always had...and he belongs to _her_...

Why does he choose _now_ to be noble...now, when it will hurt the most?

Buffy's gone again. This time it's for good.

Dawn is only just recovering.

And _he_ doesn't know.

And she could use those strong arms around her right now more than anything else in the world. She wants nothing more than to drown in the smell of whiskey and cigarettes the way she used to. To be swallowed up by his darkness so that she can forget what was lost out there in the light...

She needs him now. Needs him just as much as she did when she was a teenager. Maybe _more_. Maybe for different reasons. She doesn't know anymore. Doesn't care. She knows nothing other than just how badly she needs the darkness that he has to offer. The comfort and the familiarity that she can't find anywhere else is calling to a long dormant part of her and she can't ignore the cries anymore.

She pays for the drink, swallows the burning, hoping it will overtake the burning inside her for a few minutes so that she can think straight.

Think about things besides crypts and stories and shared hot chocolate and _Passions_.

The memories are fresher instead of dulled, the way she'd half hoped they'd be. Little pieces of time--snatches of life that assault all her senses, leaving her reeling as she remembers everything about _that_ summer...

Remembers how badly she wants it back.

All of it.

Every _bit_ of it.

Outside. She doesn't know how she got there, but the door slams shut behind her and she's left in the cool evening air, heart pounding in her chest and breath coming in sharp, desperate gasps.

Where is he?

There. The distance.

He's too far away. Much too far away.

Her heels click on the pavement.

They're Gucci. Most definitely not meant to be used as running shoes.

She doesn't give a damn. She runs as though the devil were on her back and not in front of her with his back turned to her approach.

She runs.

She reaches.

She _calls_.

He turns.

They collide.

She wants to melt against him. Can't get close enough to him as she clutches his duster and buries her face in his chest, sobbing.

He's real.

Solid.

She has to make sure. She can't let him go. He might disappear with the shadows--melt like so many other dream Spikes have in the past, leaving her to awaken in her bed, sad that her friendship is gone without hope of redemption. 

The flow of tears won't stop. She wants to _make_ them stop...wants to _be_ the big girl she is now, but all she can do is stand there holding onto him as though he'll float away if she doesn't hang on tight. She just can't make him understand with words--garbled as they are through her cries--so she makes him understand by wrapping her arms around him, unable to get close enough as she cries.

But something is wrong.

He's stiff.

He hasn't raised a hand to pull her to him.

He just stands, dumbstruck and hesitant.

She cries harder.

Why won't he hold her? Why doesn't he love her anymore?

Something occurs to her.

Did he ever really?

Something inside her cracks at the thought...a little piece of her heart that she thought was unbreakable is threatening to shatter.

His name is on her lips. As are other words. Words she never verbalized before but suddenly seem like they should have been said eons ago to make him understand.

She wants nothing more than to tell him that she's missed him.

All she can manage is a strangled whisper, barely enough of one to speak his name, but holding so much emotion she could fall apart from the strength of it as it leaves her mouth.

He still doesn't hold her and she becomes unsure, rejection and heartbreak making themselves known inside her, running like ice through her veins suddenly leaving her frozen and ready to crack in half.

He really _doesn't_ care about her...

How stupid could she have been?

And yet, she still can't pull away...not until she says his name once more, clearer than the first time, and one foot moves to allow her to step back away from him.

Suddenly his hand finds itself in his hair and she's crushed against his chest by the steel band of his arm around her ribs.

Relief floods through her as her eyes moisten afresh and he mutters meaningless reassurances in her ear, stroking her hair with such reverence it lets her know through action alone just how cherished she is.

They are reunited, holding onto each other in a dark alleyway, relieved to be in each other's company once more.

And this is as it should be.

After all, without darkness, there can _be_ no dawn.


	3. Chapter 3

He smells her first. His finely attuned senses alert him to her presence but he can't bring himself to turn.

He can't look at her without his carefully controlled cool coming undone; unraveling like a well-worn sweater might.

But then she _calls_ and his reaction is immediate.

He spins on his heel, only to find himself with an armful of weeping woman.

Her scent is different than it had been--no trace of the girlhood perfume that she'd tried to wear all those years ago.

Years. It feels more like a lifetime ago than just a handful of months smashed together into nearly a decade.

He's so conflicted he can't move with the weight of indecision. She's crying too hard--too _desperately_ for him to think straight.

The smell of salt invades his brain and her whimpering cries sing to a long dormant part of the muscle in his chest that he would never call a _heart_ anymore.

He didn't think he still _had_ a heart _to_ ache.

But she's proved him wrong.

This little slim slip of a woman, grieving so loudly as she clings to his chest has worked loose the cloak of bitter frost that he's used to carrying around as a protection. Unworked every knot and pulled free every part of him that he'd thought was made of cast iron.

The warmth against his torso lessens and he feels her start to pull away, her large uncertain eyes meeting his.

She looks so _hurt_.

"Spike?"

It comes out an unsure and hesitant whisper on the wind and her eyes fill with fresh tears when he doesn't say anything in response.

She moves to take a step back and he realizes…

She's done it again. Poked holes in his armor.

And all he can do is helplessly pull her to him, feeling like a puzzle that's been missing a piece only to have it found and back in its proper place once more.

He can't find words. Ironic, that.

A man who once fancied himself a poet can't find the right _words_.

He opts to mutter nonsense into her ear, her hair tickling his cheek as he breathes deep; the fragrance of the night air mingling with _her_ so perfectly it seems as though the two were made for each other.

Spike wants to tell her so much…wants to express _so much_…

But words have fled him, leaving only raw emotions in their place and all he can do is crush her to his body, intent on soaking up as much of her as he can _while_ he can.

It's far from right; so distant from proper it's not even in the same hemisphere, but it feels--_he_ feels whole. For the first time in a long time, he feels _whole_. No longer a broken being left in fragments, she is his equal. The missing part of himself has come back to him at last.

Maybe it's selfish that he wants to keep her…maybe it's wrong and self-centered to want her to be with him like this always…

He doesn't care.

He simply can't bring himself to give the idea more than a passing consideration.

He wants her too much to contemplate such things…

Needs her too much…

_Loves_ her too much.

He isn't sure if it's still that innocent, complimentary adoration and affection he once had for her--he doesn't know if there's something deeper there--but he knows that now he is reunited with her, and he will _never_ let her go. He couldn't handle saying goodbye all over again.

It _is_ selfish of him; in his soul, he knows that it is…but then she looks at him with those eyes overflowing and his thumbs brush across the tear tracks on her cheeks with a certain tenderness he didn't know he possessed.

Yes. It's selfish the way he speaks her name and holds her to him with such overprotectiveness.

But she doesn't seem to mind.

Doesn't seem to mind as his lips move of their own accord to her forehead, then her cheek, expressing through action what words--even if he were able to unearth the correct ones in the muddle of his psyche--could _never_ make clear.

"I missed you," she murmurs as she clings to him and the words are a balm on the sorest part of his spirit.

His eyes try to flutter shut but he forces himself to keep his wits. "I know."

"Buffy's dead."

A pained whisper followed by her hands clutching his duster tighter.

"I know that too, nibblet."

"How?"

"I hear things."

She swallows twice and flings her arms around his neck.

"Don't ever leave me again," her voice is a warning hiss, laden with emotion. "I'll stake you if you try it."

He smiles against her hair. "I don't doubt it."

"Spike?"

"Yes, pet?"

"Take me home."

He feels somewhat thick when she says it. Where's home? Surely not Sunnydale...that's hundreds of miles away...

"Home?"

"Home is anywhere you are, Spike."

She draws back from him and holds out her hand, waiting for him to clasp it in his own.

"Take me _home_."

-

A/N: Finally. Now I hope this damned story will leave me alone and stop urging me to continue it a chapter at a time. It was never intended to go beyond a one-shot, but apparently, I'm a sucker for happy endings.

-takes a bow- Thanks for reading, oh audience mine.


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